


Dom O' Lantern

by Crollalanza



Category: Shaderunners (Webcomic)
Genre: Multi, SatiIvo, there's subtext here okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8239057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: It was Easton Lynch who first noticed Dom was looking down.  The grime of Ironwell getting to his usually cheerful soul.Inevitable, Pamina thought, when he mentioned it, then doubled back. But maybe it shouldn't be.With the help of Ezra, she plans a party to lift their spirits, and with a vial of colour as a prize for the best costume, everyone's on board. But who will win?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capitalette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitalette/gifts).



> This is for the fantastic Capp who is the illustrator and co-creator (with Lin) of the amazing Shaderunners webcomic. It's Capp's birthday today, so go read Shaderunners, and reblog it all over tumblr because it's incredible.

It was, surprisingly, Easton’s idea. Initially, anyway. Not that he put in much effort beyond noticing the problem in the first place and then offering the opinion that maybe ‘we should do somethin’ for the kid’. But he grabbed the credit for being ‘the instigator’ and Pamina wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t believe himself the driving force _and_ organiser so great was the pride he wore puffed in his chest.

“Why are you bothered?” she asked.

Shuffling his feet on the ground, Easton mumbled something.

“What was that?”

“He ain’t smiled for a while. S’all.” He shrugged. “Ironwell’s gettin’ to him ... maybe. I dunno.”

“No one’s smiling,” Pamina replied, and turned away.

Conversation closed. Except when Valdes turned up for his shift, she noticed a droop to his eyes and he wasn’t whistling as he washed glasses or wiped down the counter.

She wouldn’t have thought any more on it. Valdes had a tender heart, was always mooning over someone or something, so he’d no doubt snap out of it in a day or so when another fancy wended its way past. But then Satinder took to sighing, sitting up at the bar, chin in her hands. And Ivo wasn’t as exuberant, brows knitting together in a perpetual sulk.

Ironwell was getting to Valdes. It was getting to them all; it was inevitable, but should it be?

Pamina shuffled along the bench next to Ezra. His nose in a book, he didn’t stop reading, not even when she placed a hand on his shoulder, but he turned involuntarily, rubbing her hand with his cheek. “One more page,” he muttered, his eyes skimming the words.

Keeping his finger in the book to make the page, he looked up. “What’s the matter?”

Of course he knew something was the matter. That’s what he was like.

“Lynch thinks --”she began.

His eyes rolled. “What is it now? He wants more moonshine? He’s found a way to brew it himself. He -”

“He thinks Valdes is unhappy,” she interrupted, her voice and stare automatically hushing him.

 _Really,_ his eyebrows said.

She nodded. “And I think it’s having a knock on effect. Ivo isn’t sparkling and Satinder is ... uh ... well, there’s a smile, but it’s weary.”

“We’re working hard,” he said mildly. “It takes its toll.” His eyes were kind, but lofty as he stared at her. “You never smile, Pam. Does that mean you’re unhappy, too?”

“Maybe I smile on the inside,” she muttered. “I’m not one for displays, as well you know.”

He knew. Of course, he knew. And then in a gesture that surprised her, he twisted a tress of her hair between his finger and thumb, and sighed. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they need a pick up. Something to take them out of themselves, what do you think?”

Ezra creased his brow, the furrows forming wavy lines across his forehead. He frowned so often, so deeply, that she wondered why the lines weren’t etched permanently into his skin.

“How though?” he murmured, not disagreeing.

She smelt the cheap cologne and smoke before she felt the hand on her shoulder, and then a face smeared between the pair of them, its ever-present grin causing his cheeks to puff out and touch them both. “Hey, hey, not talkin’ ‘bout me, are ya?”

“Why would we be doing that?” Ezra snapped. With a surprisingly inelegant move, he jerked away from Easton, causing the latter’s hand to drop to the side.

“You look kinda ... kinda ... what’s that word you use?  Pensive, yeah that’s it,” Easton continued, not in the least put off. “And as if you’re tryin’ to plot something, but have no idea what it is.”

“He’s right,” Pamina muttered. She glanced back at the trio at the bar before turning her attention back to Easton. “You said you thought Valdes was unhappy. Any idea why?”

“Homesick, maybe?” Easton shrugged. He straightened up, clearly not interested anymore and sauntered to the bar. Pamina watched as he insinuated his way between Ivo and Satinder, flashing both of them a smirk, before leaning his elbows on the bar to place his order.

She expected him to stay there. Getting under people’s skin was the thing Easton liked doing the best, and with Ivo touchier than usual, even Satinder was close to snapping.

But he returned with a bottle and three shot glasses, and instead of hanging off Ezra’s shoulders, he scooted around to the other side of the table and faced them.

“See, I was right.”

“About what?” Ezra asked. He squinted at the shot glass, holding it up to the light before accepting it.

“Kid’s talkin’ ‘bout Tourmalie autumns, says they smell different and he misses the campfires, or somethin’. Then Ivo started talkin’ ’bout the past, and even Satinder was gettin’ mournful.” Pulling the cork out of the bottle, smirking at Ezra’s disgust, he poured three shots. “So what’s the plan?”

“For what?” Ezra looked puzzled. “I thought we were lying low after the last heist.

“Other plan,” Easton said. “T’ make the kid smile, ‘cause I reckon if he’s happy, then the others’ll perk up, too.” He poured another shot for himself. “I know a gal who could put the zing in his cheeks. She wouldn’t need any ... uh ... inducement. Well, not much.”

“The ‘gals’ you know are more likely to terrify him,” Pamina replied dryly. “And you’d be after a cut, I bet.”

“Hey, I can be nice!”

“For a price,” she countered. “No girls. Or boys, Easton. Leave Valdes alone.”

He grunted something, then picking up the bottle he slunk across the room and to the bar. Soon he was chatting to Ivo, or trying to, because Ivo was clearly out of sorts, creased shirt, a sulk to the lips, hair in disarray. Not a good day. Not an opera kind of day.

Ezra had remained silent and for a moment, Pamina assumed he was ignoring them and had gone back to his book, but his mind was elsewhere, and he was breathing deeply through his nose.

“Tourmalie  autumns do smell different,” he murmured. “Less ... grimy.”

“So, should we do something - like Lynch says?” she asked.

The pained expression that Ezra assumed whenever he had to think too closely about Easton and his ideas, didn’t shift, but he closed his book. “As leaders it is beholden on us to provide not only shelter and safety but succour to all who come under our command. It would be a grave day in Ironwell if those who come under the sanctuary of The Glass Dial are in any way melancholy.  As we are in charge of the said refuges who seek assistance in a myriad of ways, then it is beholden -”

He was repeating himself, too caught up with his words and the sentiment, so taking pity, Pamina closed her hand over his. “Ezra, are you in or out?”

“In,” he said and downed his shot. “But not Easton’s way.”

Tucking the book under his arm, he got to his feet.

“Where are you going now?”Pamina asked.

“Library,” he replied.

“Of course,” she said, more to herself than to him because when Ezra had a problem he looked to a book first.

“I don’t feel like singing!” Ivo yelled. “Can’t a girl take a break once in a while?”

“Sure you can, beautiful,” Satinder replied. “Easton was only asking.”

Ivo pouted, but her lip was trembling. Not the prima donna anymore, but someone tired with life. She could effervesce back to life in minutes, but not that night.

 _Weary,_ Pamina thought. _Our songbird’s losing her fizz._

***

The too-early rapping at her door set Pamina’s head throbbing.

She’d let Valdes leave early, staying in the bar until even Easton had drunk enough, but Ezra hadn’t returned. He’d been known to hide himself away in the library, staying awake all night surrounded by musty books, so she’d not been entirely surprised at his absence. And in some way she welcomed it because serving the guys, listening as Ivo moped, Satinder soothed and Easton slunk deeper into his drink, had given her time to think, to try and ease a passage out of the doldrums affecting them all.

It was a quiet time. The last heist had been successful – too successful, if the truth needed to be told – and with the authorities stepping up their search for the ‘blaggards’, they’d agreed to lay low and not plan anything for a while. Pamina guessed that without the thrill of another job, the buzz of success had now muted them all, and while she relished the downtime, giving time to her puppetry, the rest of them needed the intrigue.

“Alright, I’m coming!” she yelled, and stepping out of bed, she slouched to the door, looking through the peephole before she opened it (although she figured the authorities wouldn’t knock but charge the door down without so much as a by-your-leave).

She couldn’t see the face, but recognised not just the crumpled white shirt, but the tie, a little looser than normal around his neck.

“Ezra!” she yawned and opened the door. “What’s the panic?”

“I’ve had an idea,” he said.

“And it can’t wait.”

“Ah...” Pulling out a pocket watch, Ezra’s mouth formed an ‘o’ in apology. “I’ve not been home and I have an _appointment_ later.”

She shrugged, knowing by appointment he meant an assignation, but let him inside and led him through to the kitchen. “Might as well have coffee while we talk,” she offered, still yawning.

Over coffee, he explained. Dom’s thoughts of autumn had stirred memories inside of him, and the visits he’d made to Tourmalie with his dads.  “The camp fires,” he murmured. “Smoke in the air, roasting chestnuts, baked apples. Rainfall.” He sighed. “Rain on honest earth, and crisp leaves underfoot.”

“You want to go back?” she queried.

“No, I can empathise, though. I think Mr Valdes needs a reminder that not everything here is grim.”

She allowed herself a smile and leant across the table. “Well, we can’t turn the Glass Dial into Tourmalie, but we could provide a splash of colour.”

Ezra smiled, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “I hoped you’d say that. I had another idea – something I remembered from a book, which I went to verify last night.”

“And that is?”

“Pamina,” he murmured. “Have you ever heard of Halloween?”

***

It had its origins in a three day festival to revere the dead, Ezra had told her. She’d frowned protesting that it didn’t sound like the kind of thing to cheer people up, but he’d given one of his rare chuckles and slid a book across the table.  It had illustrations rather than words, not the sort of tome he generally carried around with him, and as she stared at the pages, she began to smile. Halloween might have been a celebration for the dead, but the costumes people wore were fantastical, amusing, scary, imaginative and most important of all - fun.

 

“A party?” Satinder asked. “What for?”

“We’ve had an exhausting year,” Pamina said vaguely. “But it’s been a good one and I ... uh ...” She stopped, hearing the back door to the bar opening and the unmistakable sound of someone lugging crates. Valdes, probably, but he wasn’t whistling as he usually did. “Perhaps it’s time to kick up our heels. Did I mention costumes?”

 “Oh...” Her face lit up, and then her eyes blurred dreamily. “Ivo loves dressing up. Anything else I need to know about this Halloween thing?”

“There’s guisin’,” said a brash voice from the back room. Not Valdes at all, but Easton, a cigarette in his mouth and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Hey, don’t look so surprised – Kelly ain’t the only one that knows stuff.”

“Guising?” Pamina questioned.

“Dressing up and prayin’ for a doll’s soul if ya get a treat – like a cake or cash,” Easton said and mooched towards them, hands in pockets, scuffing the toes of his shoes on the floor. “Kids carryin’ lanterns made outta turnips or pumpkins. That kinda thing.”

“How d’you know all of that?” Satinder asked, giving him a smile that could almost be called admiring.

“Lynch history o’ hustling,” he replied, winking lazily. “It’s in my blood, y’know. I was raised on these stories. Shame it never took off round here. I’d be good at prayin’ for someone’s soul.”

“Good at corrupting it, you mean,” Pamina said, giving him one of her looks.

He smirked, then took a drag of his cigarette. “Take what I c’n get, you know that, Pammy.  Now, what are we doing about decorations? ‘Cause I know a gent c’n get me half a dozen bats...”

***

“Hmm, I’m not so sure,” Ivo said, twirling around to study the reflection in the mirror. “I can’t quite see what it’s like at the back.”

“It’s good,” Satinder replied. She stopped fiddling with the cuffs of her stiff shirt, and took a sidestep towards the figure dressed completely in white. “You look amazing.”

“You’re just saying that,” Ivo giggled, then span again. 

The skirt of her dress flared out to reveal slim ankles encased in silk stockings, and the most perfect pearlescent silk slippers. A wisp of a dress in lace and satin, laced tight at the back. In her hair ,she wore a headband bedecked with feathers, one slightly askew, which Satinder hastened to rectify.

“Perfect,” she replied. “And that make-up makes you even more ghostlike.”  Taking the powder puff from the dressing table, Ivo splodged it on Satinder’s face, laughing when she sneezed.

“You’re my ghost groom, Mr Hali,” she whispered. “You need to look the part too.” And sitting her in front of the mirror, Ivo began to apply a paler foundation, to Satinder’s face, then smudging something darker under her eyes to complete the look.

“How come you look more beautiful and I look like this?” Satinder said, sighing when she saw the ghoul staring back at her. But she wasn’t sad, not really, for who could be sad when Ivoriy Keyston was at her shiningly happy best.

“It’s a shame to cover up those darling freckles,” Ivo sang, smearing away the powder on one side of Satinder’s face. She leant forwards and pressed her lips to her face. “But we have to suffer for our art. And you’re a work of art as much as I am.”

“You know Pamina’s going to give out some colour as a prize, don’t you?” Satinder pulled again at her cuffs, fretting.

“Mmm, which is why we’re gonna win,” Ivo whispered. “I’m not letting that gutter rat scoop my colour, no matter what he’s dressed as!”

Satinder smiled back at Ivo and took her hand. She didn’t want the colour for herself, but Ivo craved not just adoration but adornment, a splash of colour to set off the feathers, or to bestow roses in her cheeks, would be just the thing to chase away the gloom.

***

The Glass Dial was buzzing when Dom turned up. He pulled his costume down, to no avail because it still hovered above his knees, then sighed. It would have to do, and if he’d made it any longer then he wouldn’t have been able to walk. At least his knees in tights didn’t look quite so knobbly.  Then he heard music and smiled.

A party - a Halloween party for the Ironwell bootleggers from the underworld, and Ms Fortenbright had said he wasn’t to work, that she’d handle the bar and he was to have some fun. It had sounded like an order, even though she’d given him half a smile.

Halloween – even the name sounded exciting. And as he’d stayed in the stock room, listening as Easton regaled his audience with his tales, a marvellous picture had appeared in his head. Not for him the visions of death, or the monsters preparing mortals for their doom. What excited Dom was the light, the sign that things would be better, that even in the darkness laughter could be found.

Adjusting the headpiece he’d made out of a bowl and a bit of ribbon, he then clutched the costume round his stomach and sidled down the stairs.  With one deep breath, he rapped on the door ... and waited.

***

Catching sight of his reflection in the mirror hanging over the bar, Ezra felt faintly disconcerted. It wasn’t the pallor of his face (it wasn’t make-up, just his normal skin tone) or the fangs he’d fashioned from orange peel. It wasn’t even the stiff collar of the cloak sitting high and uncomfortably on his neck. It was more that there was a reflection. Of course there would be, but somewhere deep inside of him, Ezra had wondered (hoped perhaps) that by donning a vampire’s guise, he might just attain some of its mystique as well. But the eyes glaring back at him were his own.

And the furry clawed hand about to clasp his shoulder, really set his fangs on edge.

“You’re looking very dashing, Kelly,” leered the werewolf. “Just where did ya get that fancy outfit?”

Swishing his velvet cloak around him, being doubly careful to elude the werewolf’s grabby paw, Ezra looked down at Easton, and deigned to keep his expression neutral. “What makes you think this is not my own cloak?” he asked.

“Cuz the material’s soft and expensive. If this were yours, you’da sold it by now to buy some musty old book,” Easton replied. “Stands to reason, you’ve borrowed this. From who, though?”

“Whom!” Ezra corrected. “WHOM!”

“Ah, don’t change the subject on me. But does your fancy gent know you’ve raided his wardrobe?”

“What?”

“C’mon, that cloak’s a good seven inches above your ankle. Somethin’ tells me it belongs to a much shorter guy, maybe a little rounder, too. One who likes the finer things in life.” Easton leant closer, licking his lips lasciviously. “What ya do for him to get a lend of his clobber?”

“Nothing!” Ezra snapped.

“Oh .... so you _stole_ it.”

“Borrowed,” Ezra replied. “And he knows I have it.”

“And he’s let you wear it. To a party where he ain’t invited. There was me thinkin’ he was the possessive kind.”

“It’s at the tailors,” Ezra said, lowering his voice in the vain hope Easton would finally shut up. “Or rather it will be tomorrow. So keep your snout shut, Lynch.”

Easton grinned, looking even more wolf-like. “Secret’s safe with me. Why would I want to take on a vampire? We should ... uh ... stick together, doncha think?”

“What?”

“Vampires and werewolves – they make a good team,” Easton continued. “Only, I ain’t undead, so ... uh ...” He leered closer, pulling down the hairy shirt collar to expose his neck, and placed his other hand on Ezra’s chest. “Wanna take a bite and make me immortal, Ezra.”

Despite vowing never to react (because he knew how Easton got off on disgust) Ezra physically flinched. “I’d rather eat garlic and stab myself through the heart,” he hissed as he peeled off Easton’s fingers. “Pamina, could I take another drink?”

“Coming up,” she called out, “although I could do with a hand this side of the bar.  Lynch, how are you fixed?”

“Coming over your side, Pammy,” he replied, and with one paw on the counter, he leapt over, landing like a cat and rewarding her with his grin.

Easton’s offer to help, altruistic as it appeared, was one he’d use to his advantage. Getting on Pamina’s good side might win him the colour. Chatting to customers enabled him to keep his ears open, picking up the gossip that would inevitably be useful.

Relieved to be free of him, Ezra waited for his drink, keeping his eyes flickering around the room. He was the only vampire, as far as he could see. Most people here, having limited access to costume, had dressed up in whatever finery they could find. The ones who had asked about Halloween had made more of an effort, draping themselves in sheets, or in one case bandaging up their body in an effort to look mummified.

In one corner, about to take to the stage, Ezra spied Ivo, a dream of a ghost bride, her dashing groom by her side. Satinder looked on fondly, straightening the feathered headdress and looked to be murmuring words Ezra knew would be supportive. Pamina had said their songbird was listless, but she’d perked up tonight, gearing up spread her wings so her voice would soar.

There was, he thought, only one niggle tonight. The bar was heaving, money being spent, and the crowd were jovial, grateful for the break in the incessant autumn gloom. But still Ezra felt a void – something he couldn’t quite envisage. It nagged at him. It nagged at him more than the fact that having borrowed the velvet cloak he was now in fear of someone spilling a drink on it, or worse ripping it again. Lord Hareton would expect it back tomorrow in one piece and not several.

Deciding that was why he felt strangely lost, he got up, winding his way through Ivo’s soon-to-be audience, and headed towards the door. He’d escape upstairs, remove the cloak, and then return.

He wrenched open the door, preparing to make a secret escape, when a figure wearing a barrel tumbled into him, sending him staggering to the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” yelped the barrel. I was about to come in, and then the door opened just as I was leaning forwards, and you were there, and I fell into the room, and I ... I’m OH JEEZ I’M ON TOP OF YOU! I’m so sorry!” 

Winded, Ezra tried to explain it didn’t matter. He tried to make the words come out of his mouth to soothe the barrel (who for some reason had a bowl on his head) but as he attempted to speak all that came out was rasping air whistling through his teeth.

“HELP!” The barrel turned its head so sharply the bowl fell off to reveal dark curls and a huge pair of eyes brimming with worry. “What have I done to you, Mr Kelly? I haven’t killed ya, have I?”

“Valdes,” he managed to rasp at last. “Get off me.”

It was – unsurprisingly – difficult for a barrel to move. It was even harder because Valdes was now crippled by embarrassment. He lurched to the side, hit the floor and then rolled into the wall by the door.

Shaking off the floor dust, brushing it off the cloak, which had miraculously survived the scuffle, Ezra straightened up. He could breathe now, and knowing the cloak was unharmed, he took a mild view of Valdes’ clumsiness, even proffering his hand to help him up.

Valdes tottered to standing, then with a loud exhalation, he gave Ezra a watery sort of grin. “Thank you,” he said, and ran his fingers through his curls. “I guess I didn’t think about how I’d move in this get up.”

“Yes... quite.” Ezra stared at him. The barrel was more round, now he took it in properly, with what looked like a face carved into it – triangular eyes, and spiky teeth more fierce than the fangs in his mouth. “What are you, Mr Valdes?”

“Me? Oh ... uh ... I guess it looks better with the hat,” Valdes muttered.

He tried to bend down to reach the hat, but got stuck half way. Ezra stretched out, toeing in towards himself before picking it up to examine. A bowl with a ribbon attached. It looked a little like a carrot top, he mused. Or else it was... “Are you a pumpkin, Valdes?”

“Yeah.” Valdes smiled even wider. “That’s what I’m meant to be, Mr Kelly. I heard all the stories and knew pumpkins were a part of the legend. I’m ‘Jack O’Lantern’. Of course there’s s’posed to be a flame inside of me, but I couldn’t figure that one out unless I set myself on fire.”

“And we couldn’t have that, could we?” Ezra smiled down at him, then stepping forwards, he placed the bowl on his head, making sure it was straight.  “Jack O’ Lantern, I like that. But maybe ... _Dom_ O’ Lantern, just to give it your personal –” he tweaked the stalk, “- twist.”

“And do I look okay?” Valdes asked, his voice hushed as he spied the rest of them in the room. “Only Miss Keyston and Miss Hali look amazing, and Mr Lynch has gone to so much trouble sticking that fur all over himself. And even you, Mr Kelly.” His eyes widened in awe. “So fancy and grand looking. It’s like one swoop of that cloak and you’d be able to fly.”

“I wish, Mr Valdes,” Ezra replied. “But the cloak is uncomfortable, and not mine. Ivo and Satinder borrowed their outfits from the theatre, and as for Lynch, it’s difficult to know how much of that wolf is fake or real.”

 

***

It was at the party’s end when the guests had gone that the six of them remained to clear up. Exhausted but happy, satisfied in a way they hadn’t been for a while, the gloom lifted temporarily at least. Satinder stopped sweeping the floor when Ivo, now wearing slacks and a shirt, approached.

“Hey, Handsome,” she said, “what’s a girl got to do to get a kiss?”

Ivo relaxed in her arms, perfectly content to let Satinder fuss a little. “You trying to sweep a fella off their feet, Hali,” he muttered.

“Just checking you’re okay,” Satinder said, her eyes wide. “You’re not upset about not winning, are ya?”

“Naw,” Ivo replied, and wriggled a little. “The kid deserves it, and at least the gutter wolf didn’t win.”

 “You, Ivoriy Keyston,” Satinder whispered, “don’t need colour to set you apart from the rest of us.”

“And you, Miss Hali,” Ivo added, lifting his face to stare into Satinder’s really very beautiful eyes, even with the flaking make up, “are all the real colour I need in my life.”

***

Easton was sore. Nursing a large brandy (cheap because Pammy had hidden away the good stuff) he eased off some of the fur stuck to his arm, wincing at every slight tug.

“Would be better if you ripped it off in one go,” Pamina remarked. “It’s going to sting whatever, but at least it’d be over quicker.”

“Tried that,” Easton said, sounding mournful. He stuck out his leg, revealing a large hairless patch of skin. “Look, I darn nearly pulled off all seven layers o’ skin, too. Really not looking forward to tackling my thighs.”

“The lengths you’ll go to make a buck never cease to amaze me, Lynch,” she murmured. “You lost out this time, though.”

“Hey, I wanted to win for the glory, ya know?”

“You mean the two or three clients you had lined up to bid on the colour, right?”

He looked sheepish. Or rather he looked a little less wolfish, and there was a twitch to his lips. “Gonna hold tryin’ to make some money  against a guy, Pammy?”

“Not usually,” she said. “We all have to live, but this time was different.”

“You wanted the kid to win from the start, didn’t ya?”

Sitting next to him, Pamina pushed her fingers under the fur strap on his wrist. Little by little she peeled away the fur fabric with a far gentler touch than he’d been able to muster. “I suggest,” she said after a while when the strip was half off, “you have a hot bath for the rest. The glue will melt.”

“And you’re not helping me with that?”

She shot daggers at him out of her eyes, which he deflected with another grin, and then repeated his question. “You wanted the kid to win, Pammy, am I right?”

Tilting her head to one side, Pamina gazed across the room. Ezra was sitting at the piano, playing a faltering sort of tune, the sort of melody that put her in mind of lazy afternoons in muted sunshine, and leaves falling off trees. Beside him, but sitting on the floor, was Valdes. He’d changed out of his costume, back in his scruffy shorts and well-worn top, but the pumpkin approximation was right in front of him. In one hand, he held a small brush, in the other the vial of colour Pamina had declared he’d won. He dipped the brush into vial, marvelling at sight as the light hit it just right, and then with a swirl he painted the colour straight onto the ‘pumpkin’. There was not enough to cover it, just the smallest amount for him to add some decoration before he hid it away from the Greys.

He was smiling, his eyes lit from within far brighter than any colour in the world, and when Domigo Valdes smiled, everyone else in the room smiled back.

“See how happy he is,” Pamina said. “Isn’t that what we wanted? Isn’t that what you suggested?”

Easton shrugged, but there was a softness to the gesture, and she could tell that deep down (very deep down) he approved.

“One thing,” he whispered in Pamina’s ear, “who’s gonna tell the kid that pumpkins aren’t blue?”

“No one,” she said, then with a sudden jerk, she ripped off the fur on his upper arm, “is going to tell him anything, got that, Mr Lynch?”

“Yeah,” he wept, the tears filling his eyes. “Pumpkins are blue. Everyone knows that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's an early Halloween fic, but it's right on time for Capp's birthday. :D


End file.
